


Returning to Life

by sabsxy_dirtbag



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Artist Harry Potter, Aurors, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-15
Updated: 2020-11-10
Packaged: 2021-03-06 14:22:09
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,141
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26480353
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sabsxy_dirtbag/pseuds/sabsxy_dirtbag
Summary: These young men need therapy. But instead, they are training to be Aurors.Ravenpaw-93 on tumblr shared the following idea: "Draco having a bad day and just crawling into Harry’s lap, burying his face in his neck & Harry being like, I thought we didn’t do this? And Draco saying. Yeah well, today we do." And i ran with it!
Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter
Comments: 2
Kudos: 38





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is not finished... Please let me know what you think!

Harry walks into the bathroom to the sight of Draco Malfoy standing in front of the sink, arms bracing the ceramic basin, chest heaving, eyes staring wildly at his reflection. The image immediately sends Harry’s mind to another time in a different bathroom – with Malfoy crying and Harry casting a spell he still regrets. Even now, he won’t allow himself to think the word. For a moment, Harry’s mind is spiraling, and he feels like his body is trying to split from is soul as he tries to remember that he’s not in a Hogwarts boys’ bathroom in sixth year. He is in a Ministry of Magic bathroom, he is twenty years old, and he is at his place of work. He is an Auror-in-training, as of six months ago.

His affirmations make the spinning feeling stop, but Harry is still frozen at the bathroom door when Malfoy looks up at him. Their eyes lock for a moment. This is not sixth year and Harry is not sixteen years old; not so quick to act without thought. And Harry recognizes that panicked look in Malfoy’s eyes. Harry has seen the same look in the mirror when he wakes up in the middle of the night, trying to piece back together what is real and what were just his nightmares. Parents killed, real. Hermione tortured, real. Sucked deep into a black lake by Inferi, nightmare. Harry takes a deep breath, puts his hands up in surrender and speaks Malfoy’s name softly. _Draco_.

Malfoy’s eyes flutter closed for a breath. When Harry sees his eyes again, whatever Malfoy was fighting inside himself has weakened.

“Let’s sit,” says Harry cautiously. To Harry’s surprise, Malfoy moves to sit against the far wall, the window above casting morning light onto his white-blonde hair. Harry sits beside him and matches his pose, their knees up, eyes looking out towards the bathroom door. Malfoy places his hands on the floor, palms down like he is still searching for something to ground him. When Harry places his right hand atop Malfoy’s left, Malfoy whips his head toward Harry, eyes looking cagey again.

“It helps me sometimes.”

“It,” Malfoy says stiffly, “doesn’t help me.”

“Okay.” Harry lifts his hand and wraps both his arms around his knees. He is not in Hogwarts. God, but this position makes him feel so much younger and helpless like he experienced too often in his youth. They sit in silence and then Harry pulls his wand from his pocket and casts a locking spell on the door. He looks to Malfoy.

“What happened?”

Malfoy sighs harshly and knocks his head against the wall behind him, his eyes now firmly on the ceiling. “I don’t know. The robes.” He sighs again, frustrated. “The robes. When Head Auror Abed tossed me my robe, I was _reminded_ ,” Malfoy’s face screwing up at the word, “of something unpleasant. A memory I’d rather not revisit.” Malfoy laughs derisively, and Harry knows it is directed towards himself. “Why did I think –“ and Harry senses Malfoy is really only speaking to himself, Harry’s presence almost forgotten, “why did I, of all the careers I could excel at, pick this one? Just to prove that I _could_? Just to show them that I’m –“ he stops, his eyes flickering to Harry’s.

Right before Malfoy’s trip to the bathroom, Iman Abed had called the Aurors-in-training to their daily meeting room to announce that they had survived the six month probation and would unceremoniously receive their robes. Abed had literally chucked their blood red robes to their twelve respective new owners. At the time, Harry hadn’t noticed anything strange with Malfoy, though he had been more focused on admiring the weight of the dress robe, running his fingers over the fabric buttons.

Harry asks, “Do you like the job?”

“That’s not the question, though, is it,” replies Malfoy, voice hard. “It’s _Will I be any good at the job?_ ”

“As good as the rest of us. You passed all the tests and screenings, right.”

“Yes, well that is the Malfoy way,” he mutters. “Pushing our way into every elite establishment, whether or not we are wanted or welcomed.”

Malfoy isn’t wrong. It is the way Harry as well as many other coworkers view the Malfoys and their modus operandi: going after whatever they want no matter the obstacles; relentless.

“So,” Harry speaks after a few moments of silence, “you’re saying you took this job because your parents expected you to?”

“To oversimplify it, yes,” Malfoy says with an eye roll and an exasperated huff. “A bit more planning was involved in my lifelong career and the political stature of the Malfoy name, though I am sure you wouldn’t understand half of it if I were to explain.” _Perhaps he’s feeling more like himself, then_ , Harry thinks. He looks him over, and Harry notes that Malfoy’s color has returned to his face.

“I should be getting back to the training room. Feber will be wondering where I am,” says Harry as he rises to his feet. Darius Feber is a Senior Auror assigned to one-on-one training with Harry. Malfoy stands silently and straightens out his clothing while Harry heads to the door. Harry feels like he should say something else to Malfoy, but he hasn’t changed _that_ much since adolescence. “Uhm, I’ll see you.”

Malfoy’s arms are crossed and he still leans against the wall when he gives a nod to Harry.

Harry’s hand is on the door handle and he really should get to the training room, but instead he says, “It’s weird, isn’t it?”

Malfoy quirks his mouth in almost a smile, says _What?_ like he already knows the answer.

“Us not trying to kill each other,” says Harry with an easy smile.

“Refreshing,” says Malfoy with a simple nod, just a twinkle of amusement in his eyes.

Finally Harry slips out the bathroom.

\\\\\

Most days as Aurors-in-training are exhausting. Harry prefers those days. When Auror Feber forces him to focus so hard on the task at hand that all his body, mind, and magic have left at the end of the day is enough to get him home and into bed. It’s like his reward for working hard is a deep night’s sleep. He would not admit this to Ron and Hermione, but he dreads the weekends for the inverse reason. Harry tries not to think of the two days – and worse, three nights – as punishment. He does his best each weekend to occupy his time and mind with anything: Cleaning Grimmauld Place, but that’s rarely successful with Kreacher popping up whenever Harry starts to pull out the cleaning supplies; Reading, but Harry can never do that for more than a few hours at a time; Running, but Harry is afraid that if he goes for too many miles each day, people will start to worry about his thinning frame. He has taken to drawing on the walls but no one knows about that except Kreacher.

He is saved from himself most Sundays by the Weasleys. It was originally a standing dinner for all Weasleys and their partners. Then when Ginny and Harry split, it was a standing dinner for all Weasleys, their partners, and Harry.

“Honorable guest, Harry!” George had exclaimed when Harry slipped into a dining chair after missing three Sunday dinners post-breakup. He had stood outside for too long working up the courage to walk in by himself.

“He’s no guest,” said Molly in a feigned offended voice. “He’s family. Start filling your plate up, love, you could put on a few stones.” Harry forced himself to look at each person at the table and give them a smile – a thanks for welcoming him back. And that had been that. He hadn’t missed any more dinners unless work kept him.

This evening, Harry is lying on a couch, his head atop Hermione’s thighs. The dining room table has long been cleared and the family has spread out across the ground floor. Ron is sitting on the carpet, entertaining his niece Victoire by animating various common household objects.

“I think you would really enjoy what we’re working on in Auror training this week,” Harry says quietly to Hermione. “Wards. We’ll learn the foundations of the most common wards to understand how the complicated ones are created. Then eventually we get to practice taking them down.”

“Complex wards are fascinating,” says Hermione as she starts to play with Harry’s curls. “I’m sure I have a few books I could lend you on the subject.”

Harry closes his eyes, enjoying her fingers in his hair. “I’m sure you do,” he laughs. “How did you know those protective wards back then… to hide us during seventh year?”

Hermione’s hand stills in his hair for a moment, then she says, “I read the whole assigned Charms book during the summer. The protective charms were easy enough. Let me know how it goes.”

“I will. When will you guys be back from holiday?”

“I told you, mate.” Ron shifts to face Hermione and Harry, pulling Victoire into his lap so she can’t run off. “It’s no holiday. ‘Mione is trying to kill me by forcing me to do that Muggle snow sport with the… the skeeves.”

“Skis?” Harry guesses, sitting up. “You’re going skiing?”

“Ronald,” she says exasperatedly, “you’re not going to die. Muggles do it, and they’ve never done half the crazy things we have. We’ve ridden magical beasts, for goodness sake!”

Ron is not deterred by this logic and shakes his head resolutely. “No. Using metal poles in your hands and metal sliding poles attached to your feet – ! All these years I’ve managed not to splice myself too thoroughly while Apparating, just to be bested by a ski pole going right through me as I slip down a mountain.” Ron animates a couch pillow to hop from above Victoire’s head of black hair, bumping her face and lap before landing on the floor. Victoire laughs and grabs the pillow before it can bounce away.

“I’ll teach you the Swiss words for ‘watch out,’ then,” Hermione says, trying not to laugh. Then she turns toward Harry. “We’ll be back the following Wednesday. I actually think our parents are staying until next Saturday. Mine because they’ve got the time, now that they’re retired. And Ron’s mostly because Arthur wants to take his time exploring the Muggle parts of Interlaken.”

The idea for Hermione’s and Ron’s parents to all go on holiday together was Arthur’s idea, apparently. Hermione had seemed pretty excited once she convinced her parents to go. And anyways, Ron and Hermione have never been on a proper holiday together. Harry says as much when he is getting ready to go back to Grimmauld Place, some hours later.

“First holiday together. Took you long enough.”

“And with both of our parents,” Ron says, shaking his head, a rue smile on his face.

“It’s not like we’ll be with them the whole trip. My parents aren’t clingy. They’ve proven that,” she adds without enough humor in her tone. Even though Hermione regularly visits her parents in Australia, her parents rarely return the favor. Harry knows that their relationship is not what it used to be, even after Hermione returned their memories. Harry wonders if it felt the way it would feel for Harry’s parents to return to him suddenly. It would be a good thing, an amazing thing, but also a completely different world to get used to.

“Don’t even worry about it,” Harry says, seeing the anxiety Hermione is trying to ignore about the trip. “The Swiss Alps will be great. Bring me back something good. I’ll see you guys in ten days.”

After Harry has Floo’d home, showered, and turned out the lights for sleep, he finally acknowledges the echo of _ten days_ in his brain. It’s okay. He will fill his time with other activities and other people. When sleep will not come to him, Harry forces himself to list off as many activities he can think of that he might do while his best friends are off living their lives. He closes his eyes and imagines going to the library, trailing all the shelves in an empty section, and trying to find the most bizarre title to take out; using his new enchanted paints to make a mural in his art room, inspiring the dandelions to sway in the breeze and the moon to revolve through all its phases; walking into the bar alone and sitting in a booth, watching the colorful lights flash over everything. He imagines playing with his glass absently once it’s empty and then a voice asks, _What are you doing here, Potter?_

When Dream-Harry looks up, he only sees a tall figure with white blonde hair stalking off, exiting the bar.


	2. Chapter 2

Monday morning at the Ministry, Harry pulls himself together with a mug of coffee as he waits for the meeting to start. Head Auror Abed walks the length of the long wooden table in an almost reflective blue robe as she speaks. This early into their training, they do not get to work cases. Harry can see some of his fellow trainees listening intently to the Senior Aurors’ updates on their cases, but he himself is feeling too unfocused and jittery. He slept well enough, but he keeps thinking about his dream and the familiar drawling voice asking, _What are you doing here, Potter?_  
  
His eyes move to Draco Malfoy involuntarily. His blonde hair is pulled back into a sleek low ponytail, and Harry wonders what it looks like down around his shoulders. Malfoy had been looking at Abed with polite interest, but a beat after Harry looks at him, Malfoy’s grey eyes flash to his. Harry has already been caught staring so he holds eye contact, waiting for a dirty look that never comes. Instead, Malfoy’s brows knit together in confusion or – it can’t be concern. Harry finally decides to just look down at his coffee mug. He absentmindedly runs a finger across the table as if doodling on a piece of paper.

Harry eventually tunes back in to hear Auror Abed say that the second half of each day this week will be devoted to building and breaking wards, alternating individual and team work. Everyone begins to shuffle toward the exit when Auror Abed calls, _Malfoy. Potter._ in her flat voice. Harry walks to the Head Auror with the feeling of being called to the Headmaster’s office. Malfoy comes to stand beside Harry.

“You two will do surveillance this Friday, eleven to seven. Trainees observe in pairs. The location and relevant information will be on your desks. This is related to Parady’s case,” Abed nods to Malfoy. Auror Lawrence Parady is Malfoy’s trainer. The case has something to do with dangerous magical plants being distributed to Muggle communities, if Harry remembers correctly. “No action should be taken at that time,” Abed says directly to Harry. “You will survey and write up any pertinent observations. One report shall suffice.” She then walks off without waiting for a response.

Harry breathes out a sigh of relief, his mood brightened.

“And what are you so giddy about,” mocks Malfoy. “Is standing and staring for all of Friday night something you enjoy?”

Harry is unbothered and turns toward Malfoy, crossing his arms, gearing up for the kind of exchange that he and Malfoy do best, feeling a familiar thrill that he’s missed.

“Ground work, Malfoy. Our first assignment as Aurors. Even you must be excited about it.”

Malfoy just hums as if considering, then says, “We’ll see.”

A snort interrupts their conversation and the two follow the sound to trainee Troy Wayan, who is lingering by the table but seems to have no reason to still be in the room.

“Draco Malfoy groveled his way into the Ministry of Magic only to turn his nose up at the actual work? Sounds about right.” Wayan has a very pleased look on his face as he finally exits the meeting room.

Harry feels his face turn red and looks down at the ground, waiting for his annoyance to subside. He isn’t sure why he cares what Wayan said, though he is a very annoying person in general. Maybe Harry feels secondhand embarrassment because of his and Malfoy’s talk in the bathroom last week.

Harry and Malfoy briefly look at each other and Harry is sure Malfoy can hear what he’s thinking. After a flash of anger, Malfoy smooths his face into a haughty mask, resembling Lucius Malfoy. He even tilts his head up slightly, so as to look down on Harry. They both leave for their separate training rooms without another word.

It is not until lunch break when Harry plans to go see Ron and tell him that he’ll be doing surveillance that he remembers he and Hermione have already left for holiday. Feeling deflated and distracted by the dread he tries to keep at bay, he walks to the cafeteria in a daze. He is only pulled from his own mind when a pale hand reaches in front of him to grab an apple on the counter.

“Malfoy.”

“Potter,” says Malfoy, glancing at Harry’s empty tray. “Watching your figure for a Quibbler exclusive spread?”

“Quibbler? Where is your loyalty to the Prophet?” Harry grabs an orange just to fill his tray and absently follows Malfoy toward the dining room. Two dings sound off as they pass under the cashless register that recognizes their registered wands as identification.

“That _tabloid_ that calls itself Britain’s leading wizarding newspaper?” Malfoy scoffs and weaves through the expanse of dark wood tables to a corner table against the far window.

“Our only wizarding paper, actually.” Harry follows Malfoy absentmindedly.

“I think I’ve had my fill of reading the exaggerations and speculations of one Rita Skeeter,” Malfoy says. He places his tray down and pauses to look at Harry in question before sitting.

“Finally caught on, have you?” Harry sits.

Malfoy’s face flickers surprised, then confused, then settles. He looks down at Harry’s near empty tray once again. “Caught on?”

Harry picks up his lone orange and spins it around in his hands, waiting for Malfoy to return his gaze. “That your name in the paper isn’t so glamorous. At best it’s intrusive. And at worst –” Harry just tilts his head as if to say, _You know_.

Malfoy’s face sours because _Yes_ , he knows. He deflects with an exasperated, “Are you really going to eat just an orange before our afternoon training? Have some self-preservation.” With quite dramatic force, Malfoy picks up a bowl of soup from his tray and pushes it in front of Harry.

“Malfoy, I didn’t know you cared,” Harry teases. He begins to peal his orange slowly, having no appetite.

Malfoy grunts in response, his hands moving quickly and efficiently to prepare his food. Then: “Not that I do care… But I’m sure I haven’t seen you eat in the cafeteria before. Why are you here – and sitting with me, no less?”

Harry’s eyes widen a moment before he pretends that it’s not a big deal. “Uhm. I usually have lunch with Ron or Hermione. Or in my office. They’re off on a vacation now, so.” Harry has no plans to address the sitting-with-Malfoy part.

“Oh no, Potter’s emotional support Gryffindors are away. How will he survive the week?” Malfoy mocks with comical knitted eyebrows.

Harry has been wondering that all day. Of course, he won’t give himself away like that to Malfoy, so he finally pops an orange slice in his mouth and says, “Pulling an all-nighter with you, evidently.”

“So your weekend plans are work,” Malfoy replies flatly. He shakes his head, forking more food into his mouth carefully. Why is every one of Malfoy’s actions loaded with superiority?

Harry scowls. “And what are your plans, then?”

“Little old me?” He places a delicate hand across his chest. “Absolutely nothing special. I just expected the Savior to be busy at galas or fundraisers or whatever it is celebrities do. Though come to think of it, I can’t remember reading any tantalizing stories about you for a while now.”

“I forgot how you like to keep tabs on me,” says Harry. A thrill runs through his chest at Malfoy’s answering glare. “Have you got a scrapbook of my news clippings, Malfoy? Or did you get rid of it after graduation?” Harry leans back in his chair, grinning.

Malfoy chews stiffly then says, “I won’t dignify that with an answer.”

Harry laughs so heartily he startles himself. “Hate to disappoint, but there won’t be any more stories for your collection. At least not as long as I’m an Auror.”

“Oh?” He sounds bored, but Harry knows that Malfoy is curious.

And because Harry has a deep inexplicable need to rile Malfoy up at all opportunities, he simply shrugs and gets up from the table. “Thanks for the soup,” and Harry smiles even brighter at Malfoy’s raised chin and eye roll.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't know what I'm doing!! Let me know what you think.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I do love a run on sentence. Also, pacing? Never heard of her.

The promise of exhaustion from wards practice on an empty stomach does not disappoint. Harry admits to himself, when he’s back home – practically swaying in his kitchen from weakness – that he may have pushed himself a bit too far. When Harry is in bed, wand under his pillow, he briefly wonders what Malfoy would say if he shared that he very nearly passed out.

Harry wakes up when the outside is barely showing light. With a frustrated groan, he whips himself out of bed and decides to prepare a lunch and dinner for that day. And for the next, and the next. He loses himself in his productivity and ends up having to rush to the Ministry and forgo his coffee to arrive in the meeting room on time.

Tuesday wards go better. Harry thinks glancing at the book Hermione had thoughtfully owl’d to Grimmauld Place before she left had actually helped a little. Harry leaves the Ministry feeling a calm buzz of confidence for the work he accomplished. As he pulls out his meal-prepped dinner, however, the buzz starts to feel more like static, prickling at his peace. He feels lonely as he eats his meal in record time, not having had to prepare it. He thinks he will never meal prep again, as he is now looking at a stretch of three or four hours he now needs to waste before he can go to sleep. He decides on a hot shower, gets into his lounge clothes, and heads to the painting room.

Harry has seen wizards paint with their wands, any chosen medium appearing on the target with bursts of magic. When Harry walked into an art shop on a whim, he discovered enchanted paints. He bought some almost as a joke to himself, thinking them the equivalent of scented markers for Muggle children. It would be another month before he actually used them and felt a positive magic swirl about the room with each swipe of paint.

Tonight, he loses himself in strokes of gold, yellow, and brown until his eyes burn from fatigue. When he retires to his bedroom, the art on the wall is similar to the look of a ball of multicolored yarn, only it’s pulsating subtly. Harry blessedly falls asleep satisfied.

Wednesday morning’s wards go well enough for Harry. He builds some wards then reverses everything. For Harry, it feels like finding his way out of a maze of spellwork.

For the second time in the week, Harry wanders to the cafeteria for lunch. Without hesitation, he makes his way to what he calls ‘Malfoy’s table’ in his head. It is fun to see the startled look appear on Malfoy’s face as Harry plops down with a grin.

“A sandwich,” Harry says grandly.

“Have you truly lost it? Seriously, Potter, do you need to see a Mind Healer? Because I can recommend a good one to you.” Malfoy has leaned forward in his chair as if to inspect Harry’s mental health by staring into his eyes.

Harry is frozen for a moment by the eye contact, then shakes free of the grey eyes’ hold. “No, I haven’t lost it. I’m having a sandwich.” Malfoy looks thoroughly done with the conversation. “Self-preservation and all that.”

“Oh Merlin. Did you not receive enough attention as a child? Do you require praise for every action?”

Harry hears no malice in Malfoy’s tone and is amused to realize that, whether or not he’s playing the role of school bully, he is quite the dramatic speaker. Harry takes an equally dramatic bite of his sandwich for Malfoy’s benefit.

“Have you noticed, Malfoy, that you often respond to me in the form of a question?”

Cue the eyebrow raise. “Is that so?”

Harry only grins while Malfoy realizes what he just said. His pale cheeks warm with embarrassment.

“Perhaps it’s because everything that comes out of your mouth is so puzzling.”

“I believe you find me fascinating.” Harry doesn’t know why he says that. He knows he is feeling very on edge this week, and is doing and saying things without much thought to consequence.

“How am I meant to respond to that?!” Malfoy’s disinterested tone finally gives way to exasperation.

It only causes Harry to crack up. _Cracked is right_ , his mind supplies helpfully.

“And what _are_ you doing here again?” Malfoy rubs at his temples as if just conversing with Harry causes him strain.

“I’m eating. Thought that bit was obvious,” he says, taking another bite of sandwich.

Malfoy continues to eat, eyes on his food when he asks, “And you’re sitting with me because?”

Harry shrugs. “’S fun.”

Malfoy rolls his eyes.

“Do you wanna work on wards together this afternoon? I’ve been left to my own devices for the most part. Would like to try taking down someone else’s wards instead of my own.”

Malfoy squints and seems to consider while playing with his hair, wrapping and unwrapping a strand around his index finger. Harry finds it extremely distracting. His eyes follow Malfoy’s fingers as they return to the table, momentarily forgetting that he’s waiting for an answer.

“Why,” says Malfoy with no inflection.

“You’ve really got to give regular conversations a try.”

“Work with someone else.”

“What’s the problem?” Harry feels his good mood sour, anxiety settling back into his stomach.

“We aren’t friends, Potter.” Malfoy is back to picking at his plate.

“We work together – we’re colleagues. I’m trying to work with you.”

Malfoy lets out a frustrated breath, not believing Harry’s answer. He knows Harry is evading.

“How about you tell me the problem? Since you’re the one that’s upset and refusing to work with a fellow Auror.”

“Fellow trainee,” and Malfoy has finally dialed back the derision, leaning back in his chair. “Fine. Wards.”

Harry thinks he needs a break from Malfoy’s scrutinizing eyes, so he takes what’s left of his sandwich and exits the cafeteria with an awkward smile in Malfoy’s general direction.

*

When Harry is in bed that night, he replays his day. He thinks it was a particularly good one, if not strange. Not for the first time, he wishes he could talk to Ron or Hermione. It’s good for him to be on his own, though. Right? Before he allows himself to go down that train of thought – about being alone and never being a part of what Ron and Hermione have – not really, not like when they were in school and were a trio – he recalls doing wards with Malfoy. It was good.

It’s not hard to be around Malfoy like it was the first few months of the job. The first time Harry had seen Malfoy since the trials had been – well. When he talked it over with Ron and Hermione, they all decided that post traumatic stress disorder was a good blanket term for the horrible experience. In those beginning months of seeing Malfoy in the Ministry – not like his seventeen-year-old self, but enough like his seventeen-year-old self – it was like being brought right back to the Battle of Hogwarts. And other times, it was like being back in the Fiendfyre in the Room of Requirement. And still other times, it was like his school tormentor followed him to his job. It was hell. Only Ron knows how close Harry was to simply calling it all off and finding another career.

Nowadays, being around Malfoy doesn’t instantly take him back to wartime. Just like Hermione had predicted, Harry was able to make new memories with older Malfoy, even if they are just of Malfoy sitting at a desk or Malfoy fidgeting with his hair.

Malfoy gave him more challenging wards to work with. He said he’d taken inspiration from the protections around Malfoy Manor. Before drifting to sleep, Harry thinks about the abrupt yet swishy movements of his hands when building the wards and his stone face when checking over Harry’s work.

*

Thursday at lunch, Harry stands in front of Malfoy’s table.

“May I sit here?”

Malfoy spares a glance up at Harry while prepping his food. “You may.”

Harry sits and begins to eat, but he doesn’t feel right not winding Malfoy up. So he says, “No questions today?”

“You are quite conceited. I’m sorry to break it to you that I’m not one of your many admirers, Savior Potter.” Malfoy appears pleased by the scowl he earns from Harry.

“Not an admirer, but you’re patiently waiting for my Quibbler spread.”

Harry catches a brief quirk of Malfoy’s lips.

“All this time, you’ve insisted you don’t love the attention. You just want to be _normal_ ,” Malfoy drags the word out in mockery. “But it sounds like you’re itching to be back in the spotlight. And settling for the Quibbler, no less. Has the mighty Boy Who Lived fallen so far?” Malfoy smirks and keeps his eyes on his food, waiting for an indignant response from Harry.

“Hardly.”

Harry’s eyes are following the deft movements of Malfoy’s hands yet again: cutting up meat, picking up a cup, righting his tray to face him perfectly. Harry reminds himself to stop staring. “I just wish we could be out on assignment already.”

“I’m sure it will be unbearably boring for you.”

“For me?”

“You seem the type to need a lot of stimulation. Unlikely that you’re well-suited for surveillance.” Malfoy’s eyes widen at the laugh that bursts from Harry.

“I can see how you would think that,” he says still laughing. “But no. I’m perfectly capable of a stakeout. But thank you for sharing with me your observations.” Harry enjoys ribbing Malfoy as if _he’s_ the one with the obsession, and not Harry.

At that comment, Malfoy’s face screws up incredulously. “I should stop entertaining you. It’s gone long enough.”

“Only until tomorrow night,” are Harry’s parting words as he gets up from the table.

**Author's Note:**

> I greatly appreciate comments!


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